


Indifference

by inkedinserendipity



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, gratuitous use of dnd spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13185651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedinserendipity/pseuds/inkedinserendipity
Summary: Taako keeps backpedalling, trees looming in his peripheries. “There aren’t many things that can hurt you, Taako Taaco. Indeed, you seemed almost unkillable - for what do you hold dear? I thought nothing. You put up quite the emotionless front.”Swipe. Dodge. “Not a front, my man, I don’t give a shit aboutshit.”“Then why don’t you attack?” A smile curls across their face, and their head cocks calmly, curiously. “You could win if you struck now. You know his weaknesses in a way that few others do.”Taako can’t even stomach the thought. The indifference in Kravitz’s eyes tears at him, like he’s not attacking Taako, like the shared gold on their fingers means nothing, but Taako tamps down the sharp hurt that wells in him. It’ll be fine. “It’d be a waste to deprive the world of such a hot bod,” he snaps, and tears a wall of stone up from the ground.





	1. Chapter 1

A straight matchup, they’d laughed. A bard and a wizard against a bard and a wizard. “Except I’m the most powerful transmutation wizard in multiple realities,” Taako had said, hooking his elbows with Kravitz as they whisked away to the plains north of the Evermoors, “and you’re decked out with, like, deathly powers and shit. So it’ll be the farthest fuckin’ thing from a fair fight.”

“That hardly makes me invulnerable,” Kravitz had said, and Taako had shaken his head.

“Near enough.” A step through the portal, and they’re greeted with brisk northern winds slapping along their faces. “You’re, what, a thousand-or-something years old? It’d be pretty fuckin’ hard to take you down, Krav.”

The wizard aiding the cult of Cyric specializes in Conjuration, which is inconvenient at best. Taako takes care of batting away the little Elementals that keep popping up and prancing around the fields while Kravitz reads their fantasy Miranda rights in the bored tone of voice that always makes Taako hide a laugh behind his hand. Kravitz can deal with bureaucracy - Taako’s more concerned with sending these two fools to meet their Maker. Or, this case, their un-Maker.

The fight’s easy. Almost too easy. The scorch trails behind the fire elementals never burn away too much of the snow covering the ground, and the chill in the air makes shattering the water elementals child’s play. 

It bothers Taako a bit, seeing the red-haired bard cowering behind the wizard. Bards are powerful - Taako knew Johann personally, after all - but this one either has no self-preservation, or they’ve got something up his sleeve. 

He keeps half an eye on them as they stand, perfectly still, in the wintry field, but Taako focuses on knocking the nuisance of a wizard down to a couple HP while Kravitz drones on from his book. Fuckin’ afterlife laws, anyway. These fools are gonna be dead soon, why not read their rights after they beef it? That’s Taako’s view, but the Queen is all about justice, yadda yadda. Her domain, her way, he guesses. Whatever.

The bard casts, a flick of their hands and their lips framing words, and Taako realizes with a spark of dread that they’ve been channeling a spell - something powerful. Probably a higher-level spell than they are. 

There are no immediate effects, though, save Kravitz falling silent and closing his book, so Taako disregards them for a moment in favor of chopping the last couple HP off the wizard. “Don’t freeze now,” he snickers, and conjures a sphere of ice, holding the wizard immobilized inside a freezing ball until his eyes roll back in his head.

Smirking, Taako spins the glaive in one hand, turns toward the bard, and has only the warning of something sharp glinting in the corner of his vision to jerk out of the way as pain erupts in his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he yelps, spinning and raising the glaive toward his opponent. “You kidding me, do I really gotta kick another…” he trails off. “Kravitz?”

He blinks, but doesn’t have much time to ponder, because his husband is quick and he leaps out of the way of a second slice that would’ve taken his shoulder off entirely. A quick glance around him reveals only three figures: himself, Kravitz, and the bard, now wearing Taako’s smirk and watching quietly. No doubles - which means that this is actually Kravitz. 

“Hell of a mis-swing, m’dude,” he says, huffing out a chuckle that sounds forced even to his ears. He backs away slowly, and Kravitz follows, cloak flaring behind him. “Is this about Candlenights? I promise I got you more than just the stupid little Taako brand figurine, if you hate my merch that much then you could just tell me, my dude.” 

The tip of his scythe glistens wickedly in the pale winter sun as it slashes toward him. Taako dances out of the way, saving himself from a gutting by fractions of a second. Shit shit  _fuck_ , a half-second slower and he would’ve lost an arm.

“Kravitz?” 

Kravitz doesn’t respond, pursuing Taako with a mindless determination. “Not about the figurine, then,” Taako pants, adrenaline pounding through his veins. What the hell is he supposed to do with this? He can’t fight back! “Was there somethin’ else on the gift list? Like, I gotta say, holiday shopping for a Reaper isn’t exactly easy, ‘cause what are you supposed to get, like, the fantasy Costco doesn’t even sell scythe-warmers - shit!” he curses, stumbling away. His escapes are getting narrower and narrower. A glance over his shoulder reveals that he’s backing up toward the forest. Maybe he can lose Kravitz in the trees.

The battlefield, devoid of elementals and the cackles of the conjuration wizard, is silent. Eerily so. Kravitz has always moved silently, and Taako used to joke with him about it, how maybe in another life he was a wolf, and they’d laugh at Kravitz’s indignation at the thought that he’d be anything but a raven.

Kravitz swings again. 

Taako jumps out of the way just in time, heart pounding in his ears. The blade whistles as it passes by his ear. Close, close,  _way_  too close. His hands are shaking as he extends them in front of him placatingly. “Krav, babe, can you hear me?” he tries.

No response, except the continued crunch of snow beneath their feet and Kravitz readjusting his hands on the tip of his scythe. “Hey, Krav, this is - you’re kinda freakin’ me out, my guy. Gotta say, I don’t super love the whole fantasy Terminator look you got goin’, I know we watched that movie a coupla months ago and look, homie, I was kidding when I asked if you’d reenact it with your cloak, and I, uh,  _deffo_ didn’t mean practice on me.”

Swipe. Dodge. His wrists are saved from laceration by hair’s breadth. He’s panting, now, breaths unnaturally loud in his ears. His knees, weak since Wonderland, start to twinge, pain exacerbated by the cold winter air.

There is no banter. No final rites for Taako. This Kravitz - his cloak billowed behind him, lips set in an emotionless line, shadows gathering around his shoulders like wings, stark against the snow - doesn’t care enough to speak a word to him.

_Dominate Person,_  he realizes suddenly. 

He should be afraid, but in that moment, Taako is only relieved. Relieved that Kravitz has not left him, like so many others have. It is a comfort to know that Kravitz isn’t in his right mind, that Taako hasn’t fucked up again, that his beloved hasn’t yet found him lacking. 

(He’s always been afraid he’s living off borrowed time.)

There are red and black wisps curling off of Kravitz’s scythe that hiss the power of the Raven Queen. He knows full well how fuckin’ powerful that scythe is, he can’t get hit - ever since Wonderland his HP’s been pitiful, he just can’t taking a full blow. 

Dominate Person’s a wisdom save. There’s nothing Taako can cast to stop the spell, it’s either got to wear off - which could take anywhere from another thirty seconds to a full week - or Kravitz has to break it himself.

“How about you just put down the scythe for a hot sec? Guess not,” he says, and slides out of the way of a vicious vertical chop that would’ve split him in twain, and definitely not nonlethally. “How about now? No? Fuck, man, you’re making this - shit - ”

Taako doesn’t think of eyes much, but Kravitz’s has always been warm; a warm red that crinkle easily up in laughter, slotting easily into well-worn wrinkles. In most people, being able to see the soul in their eyes would be bullshit, ‘cause souls are something very firmly trapped inside the physical body - Taako would know, he’s lost his own too many times to properly count - but Kravitz’s very form is an extension of his soul.

There is nothing of Kravitz in those red eyes now. The warmth is gone, replaced by a chill coldness that speaks nothing of the caring, the adoration that Taako is so accustomed to seeing. There is no love, now. There’s only indifference.

For the first time, the voiceless bard speaks. “He won’t stop.”

Taako looks away, and that split second distraction earns him another gash across the shoulder. He winces. “Fuck you.”

“You’re going to have to kill him, wizard,” the bard says, looking utterly unfazed and immovable in the white snow. 

“Did you miss when I told you to - ” dodge, “ - go fuck yourself?”

The bard hums. Taako keeps backpedalling, trees looming in his peripheries. “There aren’t many things that can hurt you, Taako Taaco. Indeed, you seemed almost unkillable - for what do you hold dear? I thought nothing. You put up quite the emotionless front.”

Swipe. Dodge. “Not a front, my man, I don’t give a shit about  _shit_.”

“Then why don’t you attack?” A smile curls across their face, and their head cocks calmly, curiously. “You could win if you struck now. You know his weaknesses in a way that few others do.”

Taako can’t even stomach the thought. The indifference in Kravitz’s eyes tears at him, like he’s not attacking Taako, like the shared gold on their fingers means nothing, but Taako tamps down the sharp hurt that wells in him. It’ll be fine. “It’d be a waste to deprive the world of such a hot bod,” he snaps, and tears a wall of stone up from the ground.

Dextrous motherfucker avoids the sharp stony spines, but only just. Taako curses at his lapse in attention, hears a whistling in his ears, and Kravitz digs the blade into his side, and this time - this time it sticks.

“Shit,” he whispers, and is vaguely aware of his knees hitting the ground, palms slamming into the snow. “Aw, fuck.”

His head is spinning, and the red pooling around his knees is definitely not good, but he has the presence of mind to scramble backward as the scythe rams into the ground just by his foot. Not good not good, that’s  _very_ not good,  _fuck_ -

“Krav, hey,” he says, panic making his words run together, “you gotta call this off, m’dude, I can’t - y’know, the old HP, it’s been kinda shit since Wonderland - ” he rolls across the ground, his side a mess of agonizing heat and pain, glances behind himself to see a trail of blood in the snow, shit, he hurts like a motherfucker, “and you don’t wanna - fuckin’ - c’mon, Krav, you’re in there somewhere, right?” His breathing runs ragged. “Can you hear me, love?”

That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. But he’s out of borrowed conjuration spell slots enough for a teleport. He probably couldn’t even summon Garyl without channeling hard, winning himself a slice to the chest in the process. His vision dances black around the edges, and he catches a cough on the back of his hand, lifts it up red. Whatever organ Kravitz hit, it was delicate and fleshy and probably very, very important to his continued existence as an alive elf.

“C’mon, Krav,” he whispers, uncaring that his voice is desperate, now. Kravitz towers over him, scythe drawn, and Taako can’t strike him, he  _can’t_. He watches for the telltale tension in Kravitz’s hands and prepares himself to move. “C’mon, Krav, babe, I love you, just - put down the fuckin’ scythe, my man, you’re  _stronger_ than this, I know you are, you - ” a shuddering breath, “you said forever - ”

He’s a little bit too slow this time, and the blade catches him in the back as he rolls. He’s a too quick for it to pin him, but he’s having difficulty coordinating movement at this point - it’s ground or nothing from here on out, Taako couldn’t stand if he tried. He’s curled on his forearms, head bowed over the snow, unable to move.

It’s hard to think. Everything seems slower and hazy, which, good, because it gives him time to think, but bad because this way as he collapses onto the snow he gets to watch his beloved approach him with scythe drawn and murder in his eyes in slow fucking motion. He’s not even aware he’s still pushing himself backward, away, until his back hits the trunk of a tree and he breathes out a jagged gasp that turns midway into a sob. Fuck.  _Fuck_. His entire body hurts.

His vision’s blurring, his chest throbbing, fingers coated wet where he’s trying to keep his chest intact with his fingers alone, and maybe it’s not so awful, if Kravitz is going to be the last thing he sees -

Oh, fuck that noise. Let his last words be this:

“I love you,” he whispers, watching as Kravitz raises the scythe over Taako’s head, every inch an executioner. If Kravitz remembers this when the spell ends, at least he will have this knowledge to hold on to. “I love you, Kravitz.” 

But like hell is Taako letting the bard walk away from this fight victorious.

Taako doesn’t stand, because he doesn’t have the movement, or the strength in his legs. There’s no glorious drawing to his full, wizarding height. There’s no snarky comment. He turns from Kravitz, and faces the bard.

Taako raises his arms, knowing full well that this lapse in attention will cost him dearly, and casts Disintegrate.

See, here’s one of Taako’s favorite parts about magic: if you want it bad enough, you can fuckin’ take it. Taako takes all of his rage, his regret, all the grief that Kravitz will be feeling pretty soon here, and slams it out through his palms - no focus, just a wave of power. He channels, and grits his teeth, and fucking  _tears that motherfucker apart._ The bard doesn’t have time to scream, or sing, or do a little jig on their stupid fucking fiddle; one moment they’re watching smugly from over Kravitz’s shoulder, satisfaction fading too slowly into horror, and the next they’re nothing but shreds on the wind.

The last thing he sees before slipping into unconsciousness is the glint of a scythe arcing toward him and Kravitz’s red eyes, chilled with indifference.


	2. Chapter 2

Taako wakes up, which is a surprise.

He hurts like hell, which isn’t.

He struggles under the flood of organs in his body all screaming  _wrong! wrong! something’s wrong!_  in an avalanche of voices. He opens his mouth to say something, because he talks to himself when he’s dying, so sue him, but chokes on words before he can open his lips.

He forces his eyes open, and finds Kravitz mere inches from him.

Panic slams into him, and he tries to recoil, but two hands hold him to the ground. “ - hurt,” Kravitz is saying. Taako’s hearing fades in slowly, one word at a time, glassy like he’s underwater, but he grasps for focus until Kravitz’s voice crystallizes. “Don’t move, it’s - you’re okay, Taako, please don’t move.”

He nods slightly to show he understands, and grins as best he can. Gods, he hopes there isn’t blood on his teeth. That would be embarrassing as hell.

Kravitz raises a hand over him, and despite himself, Taako flinches. Kravitz’s composure crumples for a moment, pain and regret warring on his face, before it goes blank. He closes his eyes, lips moving in a soundless prayer, and the strange numbness in his back and shoulder dissipates piece-by-piece as a power that’s not Taako’s knits him back together.

“Hell yeah,” Taako rasps. Kravitz opens his eyes, rimmed with red and swollen. “Forgot you could heal, bubbeleh.”

“I - well. They’re not spells I use often.” His voice is hoarse. Taako frowns at him. He tries to sit up, but again Kravitz pushes him back down. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “Please - let me help. Don’t try to sit up yet.”

“Krav, wait - ” he says, and breaks off as a series of coughs wrack through him. Talking was a mistake, then. Kravitz clearly hasn’t gotten to that busted organ yet, and the snow around him splatters with red.

Kravitz is watching him with his jaw locked tight, expression carefully neutral, and closes his eyes again. Taako watches him as he casts, sees the slump of his shoulders as the spell flows through Taako.

“Okay, all right,” he says, when Kravitz winces as the last of the spell leaves him. “Krav, I’m not dying.”

“You were definitely dying.”

“But I’m not dying any more,” Taako says. He picks up an arm and wiggles it for emphasis. “See? Peachy keen or whatever.” His breath catches in his throat and he wrestles with it, willing himself not to cough, because it would be just fucking like him to undo all his hard work looking just fine in a moment of weakness. The itch passes. “Let’s just go home, yeah? What ch’boy really needs is a fuckin’ nap.”

“In a moment,” Kravitz says, and lifts his hands. Taako takes a moment to wonder just how many times he’s cast the same spell before Taako woke up.

“Don’t  _in a moment_ me, Krav,” he snaps, but it does no good - again, he feels his wounds stitch together a bit tighter, watches Kravitz sway on his knees. “Okay, stop. Just fuckin’ stop it.”

“Stop?”

“Yeah, stop healing! I’m okay, Krav, got all my limbs attached and everything.” He gestures away, toward the open plains. “Let’s go back and take a nap and you can call Merle, and he’ll fix me right up.”

“Not until I know you’re okay.”

“I’m telling you, I’m fine,” Taako replies, exasperated. This time, he doesn’t let Kravitz keep him down as he sits up, batting his hands away. “And I don’t want you draining your magic trying to fix every single tiny scratch!”

“They’re not tiny scratches, Taako!” Kravitz hisses. He points helplessly at Taako’s shoulder. “Your back, I hit - you could’ve died! And your shoulder is still open, and you sprained your ankle on the snow! We’re not going anywhere until you’re better!”

“And you fuckin’ off yourself, is that it?”

“I’d rather - ” Kravitz cuts himself off and looks away. He takes a deep breath, and keeps talking quickly, like Taako will miss the implications of that statement if he covers it with more words. “If I run out of magic, I’m not going to die. I would just revert to a soul.  _But_ ,” he interjects, “I wasn’t planning on that in the first place. I am okay, and I need to make sure you are too.”

“I’m fine. I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

“You have low standards,” Kravitz bites. He pushes Taako back down, pillowing his head with one hand, and Taako doesn’t have the energy to fight. “Just rest, okay? I’ll get us home soon.”

Taako considers fighting, but decides to let the matter slide. “Do whatever,” he snaps, letting his eyes fall shut. If Kravitz wants to run himself into the ground, so be it.

* * *

Taako sleeps like a child on the best of nights, so when he settles down that evening, he doesn’t expect to wake up for at least another two sunrises. He needs his beauty sleep for being gorgeous, of course, but now there’s the added incentive of keeping himself alive.

So it’s a surprise, then, when a hushed noise rouses him hardly six hours into sleep.

Taako blinks awake just in time to hear the bedroom door click shut. He rolls his head to the side, wincing as his neck twinges, and finds the covers mussed, bed conspicuously empty.

He frowns, but doesn’t get up. He half-expects Kravitz to sneak back in a couple seconds later, probably refilling Taako’s glass or something equally thoughtful, but the long moments trickle by and there’s no telltale creak of the door opening once more.

The knot of anxiety in Taako’s stomach grows. It’s not like Kravitz to leave him in a time like this, particularly when he knows Taako is - well, he’s not injured, fuck that, but deffo not running at full capacity. When the worry grows large enough  he can’t avoid it any more, he stumbles to his feet.

Instantly the world begins to shake. If he trusted his equilibrium he would’ve lifted his hand off the bedpost to flip off the ground, which has rudely decided to dance a salsa beneath him.

When he can stand without listing to one side, Taako stumbles as stealthily as he can to the door. Molding his fingers around the shape of the doorhandle takes all of his limited patience, tired and worried as he is, but he finally conquers the fine art of opposable thumbs.

He braces for the hall lights to flood his face, but outside there is nothing but cool darkness.

Odd. Reapers are technically living dead, but Kravitz was - is? - a human, and he doesn’t have the darkvision of elves.

The house around him is silent, and Taako thinks maybe Kravitz has gone late-night grocery shopping for some unfathomable reason, but his coat is still hung by the door. He tiptoes into the living room, ears pricked, and finally, his gaze falls upon Kravitz.

He almost runs. He almost turns and goes the fuck back to sleep, because he’s not sure he could muster the energy for a normal conversation right now, much less the hell that this will surely devolve into. But he can hardly leave Kravitz out here, looking like - looking like  _that_ , so he takes a steadying breath and limps his way into the living room.

Distracted as he is, it takes Kravitz a moment to hear Taako clumping his way down the hall. “Taako?” he calls, squinting through the darkness, and stands abruptly. “What are you doing? You should be resting.”

Taako shoulders him out of the way, grumping his way over to the couch. If he’s fuckin’ making himself available for this conversation, then he is sure as hell going to be comfortable for it, damnit. He steals the softest pillow from Kravitz’s side of the couch and pulls it to his chest, then looks expectantly up at Kravitz.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Kravitz says softly, sitting back down as lightly as he can. Like a little redistribution of weight is going to knock Taako over. “You should be sleeping, Taako.”

“So should you.”

“I’m undead,” he argues. “I don’t actually need sleep at all.”

“But you enjoy it.”

“When it’s with you, yes,” Kravitz says, and Taako is bowled over once again by Kravitz’s steadfast honesty, how easily he pulls romantic shit like that without blinking. Gods, he loves this man.

“I mean, I wasn’t the one who left the bed,” Taako points out. “You wanna explain that?”

“I was getting water,” Kravitz says, then winces. He looks at his hands, then back at Taako. “I suppose that wasn’t…a very good lie.”

“No, that sucked ass,” Taako says bluntly. “You’re nowhere near the kitchen, my dude.”

“The sink is like ten steps away.”

“And here we are, ten steps from it. Look,” Taako says, irritated, “I didn’t haul my ass all the way out here to quibble semantics, I came out here to figure out why my husband is slinking away in the middle of the night. ‘Fess up, bubbeleh.”

Kravitz’s eyes snap open as he seems to realize something. “Taako, I wasn’t - I wasn’t planning on leaving. I - I just realized what this probably looks like, I wasn’t about to go anywhere - ”

Taako waves him off. “I know,” he grumbles, “I’m not  _stupid_ , I know you love me and shit, you’ve told me like a hundred times.”

Kravitz looks unconvinced. Taako sighs. “Krav, darling, chill. I trust you. You know that.”

Kravitz winces. “I…yes. I do.”

As Taako watches, Kravitz runs a hand through his hair. This might be the worst-maintained Taako has ever seen it: dreadlocks out of place, fraying at the ends. Instead of tied down like Kravitz normally keeps it, it hangs loose around his shoulders.

“That was less than convincing.”

“It’s nothing,” Kravitz says quietly. Taako narrows his eyes. “Go back to sleep, Taako.”

“Gods, what is this - horseshit, my dude! D’you think I’m  _dumb_?”

“No, of course not,” Kravitz says quickly. “It’s just - this isn’t - this will be easier in the morning.”

“And leave you to stew on our expensive couch all night? I think not.”

“Taako - ”

“Spill, dumbass, I’m not sleeping until you do.”

“That’s not - ”

“You really think you can out-stubborn me?” Taako points at himself and waves, both eyebrows cocked. “Me?  _The_ Taako, from TV, who outran Vore Incarnate for a hundred years? You’re Death but you’re still killable, my dude, and I  _will_  win this contest.”

Kravitz laughs softly, and Taako grins in response, even though the laugh is jagged and broken around the edges. Point for Taako. “Spill,” he says, and nudges Kravitz with his elbow, and Kravitz pulls away.

Taako stares at Kravitz. Kravitz looks downward. “Okay,” Taako says, “what the fuck.”

“It’s…” Kravitz runs a hand across his face, hunching forward. “I…I’m sorry.”

“For the flinching or the killing thing?”

“The - the killing thing, Taako.”

“Okay, but that wasn’t your fault,” Taako points out, and waves his hands at Kravitz when he opens his mouth. “No! Shut up! That wasn’t you, Krav. That was that fucker casting a spell on you that, might I remind you,  _neither of us_  fuckin’ saw coming. This isn’t your fault.”

“I know,” Kravitz says, “I know, but…it was still  _me_ , Taako.”

“Not your fault.”

“That doesn’t matter!” He places his hands over his chest, pleading. “It was still - Taako, I remember everything, I know exactly what I did. I heard you, and you - you were begging, and I couldn’t stop myself. I just - I just kept attacking - Taako, I wanted you  _dead_!”

“I mean, get in line,” Taako says, because what else do you say? “But, like, you tried to stop yourself.”

“Of course I did!” Kravitz exclaims. “But I couldn’t  _do_ anything. And now, when I look at you, Taako, I - I’m afraid…. I looked up, and I knew something had happened, but I wasn’t sure what, and you - I had my scythe against your chest, Taako, I was trying to  _kill_ you and if you’d been a second - gods, Taako, a  _second_ later, that would have been it, you would have died - ” his breath hitches, voice turning frantic, “and you slumped forward because I was too slow, and you - ”

He breaks off, jaw locking, and looks away. Taako’s heart sinks. A small, scabbed-over line on his chest twinges, and he understands where it had come from, now - it wasn’t a blow he’d taken during the fight proper, but afterward, when he slumped against the scythe apparently held at his chest. He pushes away  _that_ mental image and scoots closer to Kravitz on the couch, abandoning his stolen pillow to one side, and tries to ignore the way Kravitz flinches away.

“Hey,” Taako says quietly. “It - look, Krav, you fucked it up, I’m fine.” He sets his hand over Kravitz’s. “See? Still breathing and everything.”

But Kravitz’s fingers don’t move to find his pulse, and he doesn’t look up. “I know. I know you are, and I’m so grateful. But that doesn’t change the fact that…it was  _me_ , Taako. You almost died, and I would have killed you, and gods, Taako,” he says, voice hardly above a whisper, “I would have been  _happy_  about it.”

The fight’s gone out of him. Taako slept six hours; he wonders if Kravitz slept at all, or if he was lying awake, staring at the ceiling, careful to keep from touching Taako. He wonders if Kravitz’s body curled around his while he was sleeping, close but not touching, or if Kravitz had faced the other way, trying to ignore the memories seared behind his eyelids.

“Yeah, but you didn’t,” Taako says, struggling for something else to say. He bites at his lower lip. This is not his forte, this is so out of his comfort zone it’s a whole other sport he’s batting at. “I mean, it was deffo your body, but it wasn’t you.”

“I know.”

“And it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.” Kravitz pulls his hand away to fold them in his lap, neatly, only a fine trembling through his fingers belying his exhaustion. “I know it isn’t.”

“But you’re still scared you’re gonna hurt me.”

Kravitz winces again, a tiny flinch, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. Taako presses his lips together. This is shitty. This situation is just shitty.

“Krav, look. I still trust you, and I love you, and this hasn’t changed anything, but I don’t know how to convince you that - this is a one-time thing. You’re not gonna hurt me. I  _know_ that.”

“But I don’t.”

Taako’s breath freezes in his chest. Regret passes over Kravitz’s face, so deep that Taako feels it, too. “I’m sorry,” he says, for what already feels like the hundredth time that night. His hands are still shaking. “I - I would do anything to prevent this from happening again,” Kravitz says quietly, so quietly, “but I can’t guarantee anything. I’m so sorry.”

Taako blows out a breath, gnaws at his lip. “I don’t really know what to say,” he murmurs.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Kravitz says, and smiles tiredly at him, putting up a wall between them that makes Taako’s chest hurt. “I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t do that,” Taako says. “Don’t run away from this.”

“Taako, I don’t know what to do either,” says Kravitz. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I  _can_ do.”

Taako wishes there were a spell for this. That he could snap his fingers and knit over this whole, awful experience, just like magic could pull his skin back together.

But it doesn’t work like that, of course. No amount of transmutation can undo the fear in the cuts on his palms from scrabbling backward in the snow, the bruises on his back from slamming against the trees, the terror and resignation and love he felt, looking up at the man ready to kill him, and thinking only of his salvation.

He can’t snap his fingers and undo the grief and guilt on Kravitz’s face any more than he can uncurl the fear in his chest.

But he  _can_ go to sleep. And he can drag Kravitz with him.

They won’t fix this tonight. They won’t fix this within the week. It might even take months. But Taako is a stubborn ass, and if Kravitz will have him, he’s not going fuckin’ anywhere. He’ll stick by Kravitz until this is less than a bad dream.

Taako pulls himself to his feet, braces himself against the couch for several seconds until his head stops spinning, and stands in front of Kravitz. “C’mon,” he says, and outstretches an arm. “Let’s talk about it in the morning.”

Kravitz looks from his face back to his hand. “You should rest,” he agrees, and doesn’t take Taako’s hand.

“ _Kravitz_.”

“I can’t,” Kravitz says, shaking his head. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, but until then, I need to think.”

“You’re not gonna think, you’re gonna brood,” Taako corrects, “and yes, you  _can_ sleep. I know you can. Fuck, Krav, you enjoy it, and you’re not skippin’ out because you’re afraid you’re gonna hurt me.”

Kravitz swallows, hard. “ _That’s_ not gonna be a good enough reason, my guy,” Taako says, and reaches out more insistently. “At least come back to bed. You’ll help me fall asleep.”

Kravitz pauses, indecision marring his face, before he sighs. He reaches out, hand fluttering over Taako’s for the briefest of seconds, before clasping their palms together. Taako pulls him up.

Kravitz breaks their hands apart pretty soon, but switches instead to draping one of Taako’s arms over his shoulder and helping him back to bed. Okay, so maybe Taako really wasn’t strong enough to walk around on his own yet. Whatever. This interaction was a success, mostly, kind of, and Taako refuses to regret it.

With Kravitz’s help, Taako settles back down in bed. There’s a tense moment where it’s just Kravitz, standing over Taako, the door still open behind him; but when he turns, he shuts it with a small click before spreading the covers over himself as well.

Exhaustion hits Taako almost immediately. Interrupted sleep, coupled with his ill-advised stunt limping around his home, threaten to send him spiralling to unconsciousness straight away. But Kravitz is lying beside him, perfectly still and quiet, and Taako is sure that Kravitz feels the awkwardness in the room just as acutely as he does.

They’re not done addressing this by any means. Kravitz dreams, sometimes, and Taako is sure this will crop up, and he makes a mental note to sneak out to fantasy CVS at some point tomorrow and stock up on chocolates, because Kravitz’s sweet tooth is both fearsome and entirely unhealthy. For now, though, Taako turns painfully on his side, and begins to scoot.

“Don’t,” he whispers, when Kravitz starts to protest. He wriggles his way over toward Kravitz, and narrows his eyes when fear flits over Kravitz’s expression. “Hug train’s pulling into the station,” he whispers, “and you’ve got a one-way ticket, my man. Can’t back out of this one.”

To Kravitz’s credit, he doesn’t try. In the time it takes Taako to squirm over to Kravitz, he has come to the objectively correct decision, which is to open his arms and envelop Taako in a chill more comforting than the warmth of any mortal blanket. Taako, limited though his range of motion is, tucks his head stubbornly beneath Kravitz’s chin. Despite everything, they fit their bodies together perfectly, heads tucked against chests wrapped in arms.  

The embrace starts off tense, which Taako expected. Kravitz’s arms are stiff and locked around him, which Taako also expected.

Though he starts to worry when, instead of relaxing, Kravitz only tenses further.

Taako keeps his head buried against Kravitz’s chest, legs curled together and temple pillowed against Kravitz’s arm. He focuses on breathing evenly, encouraging Kravitz to do the same. His husband is a fuckin’ sap and does that, sometimes, paces his breathing to Taako’s to help him sleep. Taako stops when Kravitz’s breathing hitches.

The arms around his back cradle him even more tightly, and a nose pushes against the top of Taako’s head and he hears, very quietly, the sound of sobbing.

Taako’s heart sinks. His chest aches, brows drawn tight, and he presses Kravitz closer to him. He forces one of his arms to move - not the one with the fucked shoulder - and draws it up and down Kravitz’s back. He tries to spell  _I’m here_  and _I’m not going anywhere_ with his fingers.

It takes a long time. Kravitz shakes around him, holding Taako to him desperately - a bit uncomfortably, to be truthful, but there’s not a chance in hell Taako’s gonna complain. Finally, slowly, the soft sobs abate, and leave in their wake stillness.

Taako shifts against him, sliding his hand along Kravitz’s back to rest on his waist. It takes a long time, long enough that Taako is struggling to stay awake, but slowly Kravitz does relax around him. This time, when he buries his face in Taako’s hair, the movement is syrupy with sleep.

He thinks that’s it. Then a finger twitches against the back of his neck, and a cool hand threads through his hair, and Taako is so relieved he nearly cries -  because Kravitz is trusting himself with this, with his hands on the back of Taako’s neck, and it’s comforting and familiar and lets Taako hope.

“G’night, Krav,” Taako whispers, needing Kravitz to know, one last time before he sleeps the day through.

There’s a soft press of lips against his forehead. A pained, triumphant smile curls across Taako’s face. It’s not fixed, and it’s not good, not yet - but it is hopeful, and that’s all they need.

“Good night, Taako.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chat with me / check the rest of my writings at my [tumblr](https://inkedinserendipity.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kravitz comes up with a Very Bad Plan. Taako's is slightly better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the Taz Fic Writers Discord, particularly @ToTillAGarden and @malevolentmango, for helping me write the last part of this! (Last part isn't done yet, but through lich-y magics courtesy of the two listed above, I hope it will be soon.)

Taako wakes up with shaking hands clamped over his mouth.

His heart pounds loudly in his ears, and he’s not quite sure how loud he’s being - he thinks he’s quiet, he’d gotten good at that, all those years on the road - but he holds his breath anyway, trying not to make a sound. Next to him, Kravitz stirs, his body curled away from Taako’s on the other side of the bed. Taako freezes. Kravitz doesn’t wake up.

When Taako can hear again, he unclenches his fingers and exhales shakily, ignoring the way his head spins. He could lay back down and go to sleep, but that option isn’t enticing right now - he does that, he’ll probably just end up back on those snow-covered plains, leaning heavily against a tree trunk, with the two red eyes of a wolf staring him down. Boy howdy, he is  _not_ about that.

As quietly as he can, Taako slinks out of bed, grateful for soft carpet beneath his bare feet, and pads out of the room. It’s still way too early for him to be awake - the sun hasn’t even risen - but he pushes away a yawn with the back of one hand as he enters the kitchen.

Pancakes are in order this morning. Despite the…incident, a week ago, Kravitz still has an insufferable sweet tooth, and Taako decides to supplement the chocolate stash sitting on their bedside table with some good, old-fashioned cinnamon-stuffed treats. He casts a quick muffling charm around the kitchen - he’ll need pots and pans for this - and sets about baking.

He’s halfway through preparing the batter when there’s a knock on the door. He charms a spoon to stir the batter - cooking with elbow grease is for idiots, plus chumps named Magnus Burnsides - and answers. The winter wind enters greedily, seeking the heat of his home, and he all but shoves Lup inside before going to slam the door, then remembering to shut it quietly at the last moment.

Lup takes a brief, canny moment to survey the room - the breakfast already underway, the piano gathering dust, the book of illusion magic wedged between two couch cushions - before her eyes land on her brother. “So,” she says.

“So,” he parrots. She leads him back into the kitchen. Taako follows. He pulls out six eggs, casts Enlarge on the batter.

“Don’t pull that, babe,” Lup sighs, when his silence stretches too long. “Talk.”

She knows what happened, of course, because she is his heart, but how she knew that he would need her this morning of all mornings is a mystery even to him. She’s watching him expectantly as he buries his gaze in the self-stirring bowl.

Actually, some elbow grease sounds good right about now. He clicks his fingers and the spoon drops, lifeless, until he picks it up. He leans against the counter next to her, bowl nestled against his chest, and stirs. “Bone boss have another nightmare?” she prompts.

“No.”

“Explain the bags under your eyes, then,” she says, elbowing him in the chest.

Ah, shit. He knew he’d forgotten something. Things like magic makeup seemed much less important when even the sun was still sleeping. “I was the lucky one this time,” he says, stirring intently. “The - well, ‘s not the usual, ‘cause it’s new, but…yeah. Snowy plains and scythe wounds, whole nine yards.”

She pins him with an intensity he stubbornly avoids. “Have you talked to Kravitz about it yet?”

The silence responds far more summarily than his words could. “Babe, I know it sucks, but you gotta talk to him about it. You can’t keep hiding this.”

“No kidding it sucks,” he mutters, stirring even faster. “But I’m not gonna tell him about this, not until - until he feels better.”

“Taako - ”

“Not up for debate.” He stops stirring - he’s going to fluff the batter too much - and sets it aside. “Not today, Lulu. He’s hurting enough as it is, and I’m not adding on top of that particular pile.”

“He’s not the only one hurting, Taako.”

He shoots her an easy grin. His hands aren’t still shaking but it feels like his world is, and though he hides the residual fear well, he can’t fool Lup. Never could. “Well, that’s why I got you, right? You, Barold, and this nice open kitchen. That’s, like, at least four shoulders to cry on, and at least - ” he counts quickly “ - seven countertops.”

“Not healthy, Koko.”

“Not up for debate, Lulu.” He stirs faster. “Let’s - fuckin’, let’s not do this right now, ch’boy’s tired of being awkward in his own house, alright?”

Lup wants to push the matter, he can tell. But she casts a sharp eye around the kitchen, the new jars of sweetened cherries on the counter and the ball of Twix wrappers neither of them bothered to throw away after their discussion last night, and accepts his white flag. Then she points toward the batter. “You at least making enough for three, babe?”

“‘Course. Get the bacon started, would you?”

Lup does more than that. She adds the bacon to the pan, greases it up - she likes her bacon dripping, for some reason beyond even him - then pulls handful after handful of vegetables out of the refrigerator. After so long on the road - then transmuting the entire team’s food, cycle in and cycle out aboard the Starblaster - to work with plenty is a relief and a joy. Out she draws two cutting boards, two pairs of knives, sharpens them with a twin pair of spells, and sets about chopping.

Once the batter’s in the pan he joins her, lulled by the rhythm of steady chopping. She’s already got the onions diced and frying, and is working on some garlic when he plucks a tomato from beside her and slices it carefully. Working in tandem is soothing, and helps calm the rest of the jittery nerves left over from witnessing - well. From experiencing that particular terror again.

She’s a warm presence by his side, silent and supportive, as the sun rises slowly behind them. They work their way steadily through the tomatoes, the peppers, the mushrooms, and when they’re done he tugs the knife out of her grasp and rinses it off.

“So what’re you actually here for?”

She fidgets. He grabs a towel and arches an eyebrow in her direction. “Kravitz called me last night. Wanted to talk,” she says, after a pause. He replaces the knife and looks at her until she continues. “No, I don’t know what about, but I can guess.”

Taako snorts. “Bring him back in one piece, lil sis, that’s all I ask.”

“Of course,” she says, uncharacteristically serious. “Taako, when he called me, he wasn’t doing great.” His heart clenches, grip tensing on the spatula. Now more than ever, he doesn’t need to imagine how Kravitz sounds, heartbroken. “I’m not gonna - fuck, Taako, I’m not gonna shout at him or anything.”

“I know,” he says. “It was a  _joke_ , Lulu.”

She hums, eyeing him. He looks pointedly into the pan, adding everything to the omelets he’s crafting, refusing to look up. With his other hand he turns down the heat on the pancakes, lowering it to a gentle simmer to keep them warm. She sighs, cuffs him over the head, and magics the heat off with a Mage Hand, replacing the mechanical flame with one of her own.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t,” she says, and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

She cuffs him again, and yeah, he deserved that one. He flicks her ear, which swats him back. “Not really.”

She accepts that with a nod of her head, but he knows they’ll be talking about it later. Probably when he least expects it. She tends to show up right when he’s feeling worst - this morning, for example - and wriggle answers out of him, whether he wants to give them or not. Annoying, but for the best, probably. Not that he’d ever tell her that. Not on his life, baby, that’s another secret he’s taking to his fuckin’ grave.

And beyond that, come to think. Gods, he won’t be rid of these fools even in death, will he?

“Oh yeah, hey, Koko,” she says, tweaking one of his ears to get his attention. “So I called Merle yesterday, and he wants to talk to you. Says he’s got an idea for you.”

“And isn’t that terrifying,” he mutters, flipping an omelet. “Wait, did you  _tell_  him about this shit?”

She levels him with a fearsome glare, then hops up on the counter. “Of course I did,” she says. “The day it happened. I love you, dearest babiest brother, but you’re kinda awful at keeping secrets from me.”

“I am not!”

“I worked out you and Krav were a thing stuck inside an umbrella,” she points out, deadpan. He watches her close as she speaks, but she doesn’t flinch at that last word. Good. “You’re an open book to me, brobro.”

“Love you too,” he mutters, making the words as caustic as he can, and she laughs. “What did the old man want?”

“Dunno.”

“If he’s just gonna dispel some holy wisdom, I’m not gonna bother.”

She kicks her heels against the cabinets. “No, it wasn’t that, I don’t think. Oh, morning, Kravitz.”

Taako’s hand freezes on the handle of the spatula for the barest of moments before he reassembles himself enough to apply a quick burst of that handy magic makeup, just enough to get rid of the bags under his eyes. Lup kicks him beneath the counter. He ignores her, then turns. “Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

“Good morning,” Kravitz says, stiffly formal. He looks - well, he doesn’t look okay, he looks about as tired as Death can get, but he’s not red-eyed and hoarse, which is an improvement in Taako’s book. Too many times this week he’s woken to his husband sobbing, terrified. “I didn’t know you were joining us for breakfast today, Lup.”

“What, I can’t drop on by?”

“Of course you can, my apologies,” he backpedals, “I just - ”

“Kidding, Krav,” she waves him off, hiding a frown behind easily nonchalance. Taako bites down on a bitter snort. Welcome to his world, Lulu - the world of uneasy formality and second-guessing and just way too many  _fucking_ apologies. “I figured we’d have our chat this morning.” She hops off the counter to grab some plates, calling over her shoulder, “Unless you’d rather wait until this evening?”

Kravitz shakes his head. He’s standing behind the counter, looking lost and out of place as Taako and Lup synchronize easily in the kitchen. Not that Taako blames him - the two of them are a force to be reckoned with on the worst of days. Still, it hurts to see him looking so out of place, where earlier there was easy harmony. Kravitz works with Lup on a daily basis, for god’s sake, he shouldn’t look like he’s dancing around gravestones, trying not to plant his foot in the wrong place or, gods forbid, his mouth. “I don’t have anything planned.”

“Good,” she says, and frisbees him a stack of plates. He catches it on reflex. “Set the table, reaper boy.”

Breakfast is, for the seventh time in a long, long week, an uncomfortable affair. Kravitz moves through syrup, avoiding any sudden motions; Taako does his best not to flinch when Kravitz’s hand flashes in the corner of his vision, and only mostly succeeds. He thanks the gods for his sister, who takes most of the conversation on herself. At least, with her there, there’s something for them to focus on that isn’t their own dissonance.

Not for the first time this week - not for the seventh, or even the thirtieth - Taako tamps down a well of frustration. He doesn’t know how to make himself less afraid, he doesn’t know how to erase the guilt and regret hanging over Kravitz like so many stormclouds, and he doesn’t know how to assemble them back the way they were. They’ve talked their way through nightmares and hard conversations and everything in-between and still, this.

Taako’s used to losing people. He thought he’d lost Kravitz, briefly, back on those snowy plains. He never thought he’d have to fear the same in the aftermath, lost to words unsaid and unresolved fears and hands that nearly brush together but jerk apart at the last moment.

Breakfast ends, both too quickly and not slowly enough. He waves both of them out of the house, closes the door behind them, and stares tiredly at the dishes left on the table.

* * *

“Huh,” is the first thing Merle says. “Was wonderin’ when I’d get a call from you.”

“Good to hear from you too, old man.”

He chuckles. Infuriating old bastard. “Well then, what’s crack-a-lackin’?”

“Eugh. Please never say that ever again.”

“No promises, kiddo,” he says, sounding smug. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“Much better,” Taako mutters, leaning against the island, the corner of the counter digging into his side. He ignores it. “Dunno, Lup told me to call you.”

“Oh, right right right,” Merle says, and calls a muffled  _I’ll be outside!_ into the open air. There’s a muted assent from their Captain, a couple of high-pitched yelps from his children, and the sound of a door opening and closing. Birdsong filters through his Stone, and Taako rolls his eyes.

“It’s like I’m there.”

“Pan knows a bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill ya,” Merle chuckles, and sighs in exaggerated relief as he lowers his crusty bum to the ground. “Right, my clever plan. So, I heard ‘bout you and Krav, and I did some pokin’ around, and I found something I think you’ll like.”

“If your solution is just a prayer or some shit, I will teleport directly to your house and ram this Stone up your nose.”

“I mean, I can get you a hymn, too, if you want,” Merle grins, and laughs when Taako curses him out. “No, no, it’s nothin’ like that. Figure you’ve heard enough about Pan from me as it is. Look, you and he got your rings made together, right?”

Taako leans against the island, frowning. “Yep?”

“And they’ve got gemstones, right?” There’s a sound like flipping pages. To his disgust, Taako can hear Merle lick his fingers through the Stone. “What was it, sapphire and tourmaline?”

“Yep.”

There’s silence for a couple of moments as he searches, then a quiet  _a-ha!_  “Good, good. I did some pokin’ around, and since you both got gems, there’s this thing I can do to your rings to make ‘em, like, powerful and shit.”

Taako rolls his eyes. “Homie, I appreciate the thought, but we’re already powerful as fuck.”

“Your armor’s absolute garbage, kid,” Merle points out, and Taako scoffs into the Stone. “You get knocked over by flyin’ icicles, don’t give me shit about trying to buff your AC. Anyway, no, this isn’t that kinda thing. Look - it was a spell, right? A spell that caused all this trouble?”

“Yeah,” Taako says, kind of distant. It’s a nice day outside, cold and clear and free of frost, and he’s behind sturdy walls, but he can almost feel snow crunching beneath his feet. He shakes himself. “Yeah, uh. Dominate Person.”

There’s a pause. Taako realizes his breathing has gone a little unsteady, tilted a little to the left, and he rights himself abruptly. Then, as the silence drags on, he hears through the Stone: “Kid, you want me to come over there?”

Taako snorts as acerbically as he can. “And see your ugly mug in person? No thanks.”

“Hey fuck you, kid!” Merle yelps, and Taako grins. Then: “You sure?” he asks, and damn if Taako doesn’t have to swallow at that, shove swelling affection back into his chest where it belongs. He sounds concerned and whiskery and so  _Merle_ that it hurts, for a second.

“Fine, old man,” he scoffs. “All clear in Taako central. Yeah, that was a spell, what about it?”

There’s a silence, during which Taako can only hear the breeze and distant, cheerful chirping of the birds, before he speaks again. “Well,” Merle says, “it’s less of a spell and more of, ah, a blessin’ from Pan on high? Not necessarily Pan, to shoot completely straight - which, as you know - ”

“You don’t, ha ha, good goof,” Taako says drily. “The blessing?”

“Stealin’ my joke,” Merle grumbles. “Anyway, if you two haul ass to my place I can bless your rings with, like, protection ‘n shit. There’s a couple - first one’s all about light, second one’s about empathy, yadda yadda, but the one I’m lookin’ at for you two’s a protection one. There’s a bit about healing, doin’ better attacks and all. But, Taako, the reason I found it is ‘cause it makes you both harder to control. The spell you were talkin’ about, if that ever happens again, you can help snap him out easier.”

Taako swallows around a dry throat. “What - you mean, you can - buff him against those spells?”

“Nah, I mean  _you_ can. This is on you two, I’m just blessin’ the rings. So long as you two love each other and are close to each other - I mean, physically, you gotta be within sixty feet of each other - you can help bring him back.”

Despite himself, Taako’s pulse picks up. Unintentionally or not, Merle - Merle’s bringing back some really shitty memories. Memories of begging, pleading, searching those red eyes for any sort of affection, any love, hell, even anger - anything he could use to bring his beloved back - and finding nothing but indifference. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Taako squeezes his eyes shut, bites hard on his lip. The burst of pain centers him, and when he stops feeling chill wind whipping around his face he speaks. “So, you bless these rings, and if anyone ever pulls that shit on Krav again, I can snap him out of it?”

“Probably,” Merle corrects. “It’ll help you communicate with him directly. Like yellin’ through the open air instead of through a wall or somethin’. Also, it’s a two way thing, yadda yadda. Vice versa and all that. If you get enchanted, he can pull you out of it too.”

“Gotcha,” Taako says. He becomes aware, slowly, that his hands are white-knuckled around the edge of the counter, and he uncurls his fingers one by one. “Gotcha, yeah.” Deep breath. Reassemble. “You - I’m - you better be around the beach for the next two days, old man, ‘cause Krav and I are dropping by pronto.”

“Got it,” Merle says, “I’ll be here.”

As he often does with Merle, Taako implicitly understands the deeper meaning behind those three words. Gods, his family’s a bunch of fuckin’ saps. “Thanks,” he says, and before he can lose his reputation, hastily adds, “you old bastard.”

“Good to talk to you too,” Merle chuckles. “You sure you don’t want me to drop by?”

“I’m fine,” Taako says. “See you soon, old man.”

* * *

Taako is reading when Lup drops Kravitz back off, thankfully in one piece. He bookmarks his page carefully - he can’t afford to lose his page, illusion magic is not his forte and crossing wires now would be disastrous - before rising to his feet. “Hey, handsome,” he says, once Lup has winked her way back out the door. “Did you guys talk about me?”

“Of course,” Kravitz says. His coat hangs off one arm, and he’s standing in the hall, like he doesn’t live here. Rolling his eyes, Taako plucks it off of him and hangs it exaggeratedly on the coat rack, sweeping one hand out and snarking  _this is what it’s here for, Kravitz_ with his eyes.

“Don’t leave ch’boy hangin’,” he says. “Any juicy deets?”

“Ah - nothing in particular,” Kravitz says, in that lying way of his. Classic tells - eyes darting to the side, hands behind back, all of that.

“Just out for a nice wintertime chat, then.”

Some of Taako’s frustration must seep into his tone, because Kravitz finally, fuckin’  _finally_ , looks at him. “No,” he admits. “We - we talked about you. And - what happened last week.”

Not a surprise. “And?”

Kravitz is quiet for a moment, thinking, then to Taako’s surprise, he crosses to the couch and sits. Taako follows suit. Sitting, Kravitz isn’t any less tense than he was standing.

“Krav?”

“I wanted to talk about…a contingency plan, I suppose,” Kravitz says, after a while. “What we should do if this happens again.”

“Oh, sweet,” Taako says. “Yeah, I got somethin’ on that too. I was talkin’ to - ”

“Taako,” he says, he interrupts, and clenches his jaw. “Just - let me say this, okay?”

Taako frowns at him. “No promises.”

Kravitz opens his mouth, shuts it again, then shakes his head. His back straightens impossibly farther, and when he looks at Taako again there’s a steely resolve in his gaze that Taako does not like. “When…when Reapers are killed, we don’t properly die,” he says. “The Raven Queen is too clever for that. Our bodies retract into our souls, and whether we wish to or not, we flee to the Astral Plane. There, in her care, we can recover.”

“I know,” Taako says. He hopes this isn’t headed where he thinks it is. “I’ve seen it.” He has. One awful, awful evening, Lup had knocked on the door, cupping in her hands his husband’s soul. It had been two days before Kravitz reformed, and another two before he woke up. Even years after the fact, it makes Taako’s heart clench to remember the long hours he spent at Kravitz’s bedside, Barry’s reassurances clashing with the sheen of sweat on Kravitz’s face.

“What I’m saying, Taako,” Kravitz continues, “is that, even if you were to strike me down, I would not die.”

Taako’s stomach drops at the same time anger swells him. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“If this happens again,” he says, calmly, so  _fucking_ calmly, “I need you to kill me, Taako.”

The words rattle around his skull, shaking loose a couple of memories he’s locked up tight, and for a split moment it’s not Kravitz in front of him it’s Barry, tears streaming down his face, staring into Taako’s eyes and shouting, screaming that he can’t remember Lup - the only being in existence with the same face as the one with which he pleaded. He remembers raising his wand and feeling  _nothing_  - confusion, maybe - and firing. He remembers the smile that crawled up Barry’s face as he toppled off the deck and fell beneath the clouds and out of view. He remembers thinking,  _huh_ , and then thinking about nothing at all.

He remembers caring about nothing at all.

“Absolutely not,” Taako says, voice shaking. “Absolutely not, Kravitz, what the  _hell_.”

As Kravitz speaks Taako feels strangely distant, like this isn’t happening to him, like it’s someone else’s husband asking to be murdered. “It makes sense,” Kravitz says, like this is logical, and when Taako looks again he can see guilt and regret and pain all shoved hastily, sloppily, behind a steel grate. “If you die, that’s your only chance. I - I’ll be okay.”

“And what if you get offed in the Astral Plane, huh?” Taako snaps, proud that his voice does not break. Something hot and unbearable is building in his chest, but he digs his nails into his palms as hard as he can and shoves it back. “Don’t - don’t fucking try me, I know there’s shit in the Astral Plane we can’t account for. The githyanki, Kravitz? What if they get to your soul cord? Poof! No more Kravitz!”

“The chances of that are small,” Kravitz says soothingly, and it takes everything Taako has to keep from erupting.

“You might be a gambler,” he hisses, fists clenched at his sides, “but there is not a chance on this gods-forsaken plane that I will  _ever_ gamble with your life, Kravitz. I don’t give a shit if - if I’m about to die, I don’t fucking  _care_ , I refuse to murder you.”

“But you would let me do the same?” Kravitz bites, and his arms spread wide. “Do you think it would be any easier for me to kill you?”

“No - ”

“I hardly want to kill you either, Taako!” Kravitz says sharply, “but I nearly did, and Taako, I got no say. You have a chance to save yourself, take it! Don’t make me kill you!”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Kravitz!” he explodes, letting the sharp ball of anger in his chest burst up his throat, stinging his eyes. He jabs a finger into Kravitz’s chest. “This isn’t a competition of who would rather kill - you have to fucking  _look for other options_ , Kravitz! This isn’t a - this isn’t a me or you thing, this isn’t a fuckin’ I-die or you-die, there aren’t just two options! There’s always a third choice if you - if you just fucking talk to people, and gods, Kravitz, I’m not going to kill you - how could you even - ”

He breaks away, reclaiming his hands and balling them against his mouth. Fuck this.  _Fuck_ this, fuck the pain on Kravitz’s face, and more than anything, fuck the lingering traces of resolve still settled around his eyes. “How could you even suggest that?” he snaps, and isn’t quite angry enough to bulldoze the tremor in his voice.

“Objectively, it’s the right thing to do, Taako,” Kravitz says, gently. He tries to take Taako’s hand, but Taako snatches it away. A familiar expression of guilt flashes across Kravitz’s face before he, too, withdraws. “I will be okay. You’ve only got one chance at life. I am immortal.”

“I’m not using it to kill you,” he snaps, voice brittle and frigid, “and that’s final. I do not care one gods damned bit what’s happened to you, I will not  _murder you_.”

“Then what do you propose we do?” Kravitz asks. “If this happens again? I can’t - what happened last time, I can’t do that!”

“I’ve - fuck you, I’ve  _got_ a solution for that,” Taako snaps, “because I didn’t just  _decide_ it was me or you - and, might I point out, I’m not the one asking you to kill me - I don’t  _care_ if I wouldn’t come back, you’re not fucking - gods, Krav - ”

Gods damn it. Gods  _damn_ it. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on calming his breathing, pushing out the white-hot anger flooding through his veins and chilling it with fresh air. If he just - pretends Kravitz never said that, he can have this conversation like he wanted, and they’ll go get their rings blessed and they’ll never have to worry about this again.

Naive. Of course they’ll worry about this again. Kravitz still gets nightmares, that’s the whole point of the illusion magic book he’s got bookmarked on the table that Kravitz has, uncharacteristically, not pointed out or even noticed.

“Okay,” Taako bites. There are several things he needs to say. “I’ve got a list, and I need you to shut up for the whole thing.”

“Taako - ”

“Nope! No buts. This looks like an offer but surprise, it actually isn’t,” Taako snaps, anger sharpening his words. “Got it?”

Kravitz’s jaw locks, that awful, familiar, expressionless mask creeping over his face again, both hands folded carefully in his lap. Everything about him these days is careful, so careful, and Taako just wants to - to shake him, to kiss him, to hold him and convince him that Taako doesn’t blame him, he still loves him, that everything will be okay if they just work this out together. Kravitz still curls around him in his sleep, close but not touching, and flinches when their chests press too close. “Got it.”

“Good.” He takes a deep, strengthening breath. “First things first - I don’t know where you picked it up - actually, yes I do, it’s a thousand years of being invincible. Listen to me, Kravitz. You are not expendable. No! Shut up, you don’t - what did I just  _fucking_ say?” he hisses, prodding Kravitz’s chest again. “You have people waiting for you now. Maybe before it was different, but you can’t just go chucking your soul into the Astral Plane because you think you’ll be okay!”

Kravitz doesn’t look convinced, because Kravitz is an idiot. They never talked about this, did they? No, they didn’t. Taako takes a moment to curse his own emotional incompetence before bulldozing right over that, too, and letting the words pour out of him. “You know what I did, when you came back as a ball of light? That was four days, by the way. I don’t know if you ever worked that out, but that was  _four days_.”

“I know.”

“Great. Excellent. Four days, that’s ninety-six hours, and guess how many of them ch’boy slept through?” Kravitz’s face falls. “None,” Taako answers for him, “good guess. Fuckin’ excellent. Zero out of ninety-six, that’s a failure no matter how you look for it. Maybe before, all you had was the Raven Queen watchin’ over you while you were in your silvery ball of light, but now you’ve got a family, Kravitz, and that means you scare the living hell out of like ten different people.”

He pulls out a secret weapon. “You wanna know how many times Ango cried, Krav?” he says, and Kravitz actually flinches, careful mask shattering. “No? Good answer, I wouldn’t either, ‘cause it was a fuckin’ lot. And then there was me,” he says, and his voice breaks, despite his efforts to keep it sharp and hard, “and I didn’t know if you were gonna wake up at all. You’d told me you would be fine if this happens, but you - it wasn’t even you, Krav. It kinda was, I mean, it still felt like you, but I couldn’t see you at all.” The deep breath he draws shudders in his throat. “ _Four days_ , Kravitz.”

Kravitz bows his head. Taako tries to feel satisfied and fails. “I…” Kravitz starts, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Taako snorts. “I know. Thanks, I guess.”

Slowly, Kravitz takes his hand. This time, Taako does not pull away. “I don’t know what to say,” he confesses softly. “I cannot let that happen again. I - I can’t.”

“And I’m not about to murder you,” Taako repeats, but quieter this time. “Just - gods, Krav, don’t ask me to do that.”

“I…” he trails off, and remorse flits across his face. He’s still not looking at Taako. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Suddenly Taako is very, very tired. “Me too.”

There’s no birdsong to fill the silence as they sit. It’s too cold outside for birds to sing.

There’s more Taako has to say. Good things - they have a solution, a way out, but he’s too drained. He’s just too tired. Petulantly, like a child, he wishes things were back to the way they were, but that’s not how things work - healing takes time, and effort, and fucked-up conversations like this, like trying to convince his husband that bringing himself to the brink of death by Taako’s own hand is unacceptable. Like funneling the desperation he’d felt, watching Kravitz’s chest lay still, with no way to know whether he was okay, for two straight days; like the sheer exhaustion he’d felt, right after he’d shouted at Kravitz to stop being such an idiot then sleeping for twenty-four hours straight. He’d woken up to slightly-burnt eggs arranged in a smiley-face on his toast as an apology.

“Did you find something, too?” Kravitz asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Taako says. He scrubs his free hand down his face. “Talked to Merle earlier. He, uh, actually had something good to say.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Crazy, I know.”

Kravitz is watching him carefully, now, instead of the other way around. “Taako, if you’d like to do this later, we can do that,” he suggests.

The concern in Kravitz’s voice gives him strength enough to shake his head. “No, you’re not runnin’ from this one, bone boy.” He takes a deep breath and squeezes Kravitz’s hand. “Yeah. Merle’s, uh, got this thing through his deity.” He taps the ring on his trapped hand. “He can enchant these. Told me they can do a whole buncha stuff, like protect us from attacks, heal each other, et cetera, so long as we’re close to each other.”  _And still love each other_ , Taako thinks, but does not say - that’s hardly going to be an issue. “Also makes us harder to control. Like, if someone tries shit again, the rings’ll help us bring each other back or something.”

Kravitz is staring at him. “Really?”

“Ch’yeah, my dude, that’s what he says, at least. Now, whether or not he can actually cast the spell is a different matter,” Taako mutters, “‘cause he’s not exactly the most competent cleric in the world, but. I thought it’d be worth a shot.”

“So - if this happens to me again, you can bring me back?”

“If this happens to  _either_ of us,” Taako corrects sharply, “and it’s not a guarantee, but we can apparently use our bonds to bring each other back. Like, you’d be able to hear me talking, instead of hearing nothing. Yeah.”

“Oh,” says Kravitz. “That….”

“Is a much more sensible solution,” Taako replies, now too tired for anger. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I suggested it.”

“Then let’s do it,” Kravitz says. “I - Taako, if I’d known that was a possibility - ”

“It already happened, bubbeleh,” Taako says. “Too late for take-backsies. Anyway, I whooped Merle’s ass into stayin’ at his beachhouse for the next coupla days, so I was thinkin’ we’d pop over tomorrow. You good?”

“I hardly have anything planned,” Kravitz says, slipping into wry humor for a moment before catching himself. “I mean - yes.”

Taako pretends he didn’t correct himself. That’s the Kravitz he wants back, the one with good humor and deadpan jokes, not this Kravitz who treads around their house his feet are made of eggshells. “Yeah, I don’t know what you’d be doin’ anyway,” he says, and even though it’s like eleven in the afternoon he catches himself yawning. “The Raven Queen’s taken you off, like, everything you could be hunting, ‘n Lup and Barry are taking the rest.”

“You weren’t supposed to know about that,” Kravitz says, a hint of his old humor returning, cautiously.

Taako encourages it, tapping on his temple with his free hand. “Ch’boy’s got eyes, m’dude,” he says.

“I suppose I wasn’t being subtle.”

Taako barks a short laugh. Kravitz looks pleased. “Oh my gods, not at all.”

He stands and stretches, giving Kravitz’s hand a reassuring pat as he extricates himself. Kravitz stands with him. After a beat, Taako realizes Kravitz is staring at him. He cocks a questioning eyebrow.

“Um, Taako,” he says, and Taako would tear the damned uncertainty out of his voice with his own two fists, if he could. “Do you - you don’t have anything planned for this evening, do you?”

“Uh, no?” Taako says. He’s hardly been keeping himself busy either - Ren flat-out refused to let him come to work as of five days ago, when Taako suspects his sister ratted him out. “What’s up, my guy?”

“They’ve put a piano outside one of the shawarma places in Neverwinter,” Kravitz says. “For the winter, and for, um, caroling. Would you like to get dinner, later? I - I haven’t played in a while, and I think it would be…nice. To do something with you.”

Gods, it’s like two middle schoolers asking each other on a date, and Taako would have much higher ground if he weren’t equally speechless. He tries to make a quip about how obviously Kravitz must hate his cooking if they’re resorting to eating in town he has a five-star chef at his beck and call, but what actually comes out is a quiet “Of course.”

* * *

That night, for the first time in a week, they fall asleep locked in a peaceful embrace.


	4. Chapter 4

Winter lifts slowly, frost untangling from the branches cast sharp over the streets of Neverwinter. The mists of snow that crashed over the city recede, trickling backward and farther north. Moonlight that once glanced bright and glaring along ice-coated streets now bathes them gently in warm silvery light.

The nights are calmer, now. Gone is the silence of the crickets, the whip-sharp whistling of wind through the trees. Above, now that the stormy winter clouds have cleared, the stars gleam bright in the night sky.

Taako spends more time awake, these evenings. The nighttime helps him read. During the day, he’s fielding all sorts of worried calls — from Ren, from Lup, from Barry and Magnus and Merle, and even one from Angus. Kid hadn’t been told anything, but he’d guessed it all. Made himself cry over the phone. The questions he’d asked before Taako excused himself had been pointed and harrowing.

But during these quiet hours, the silvery moonlight coupled with his nightvision makes his bedroom a perfect space to read. He kicks up his feet beneath their heated blanket, pulls out a book. 

Also makes it easier to for him to know if Kravitz starts dreaming. Not that he’s some Della Reese-style protector of the dreaming and the dead, of course. Just a concerned husband with good reason to be. 

It’s during one of these nights, silvered toward the last of winter, that Kravitz starts to shift in his sleep.

Which, okay, not unusual. Kravitz does this. Taako keeps an ear cocked, and when Kravitz starts to whimper his name, Taako shakes his shoulder.

“Kravitz?”

Then, something odd happens: Kravitz goes limp.

Taako shakes him again, and again, harder; no response. He stays slack against the sheets, completely still save the pained tilt of his eyebrows.

Taako purses his lips, sets aside his book. For a moment he watches. Kravitz is still breathing, so physically he’s fine, but mentally —

Taako snatches the material components out of his bedside drawer. It was a testament to Kravitz’s distraction that he hadn’t noticed Taako smuggling a raven’s feather quill into their bedroom.  _His_ Kravitz is much more aware.

This was before their date, of course; before they’d eaten some mediocre shawarma and Taako had nearly cracked a rib laughing at all of the shitty, shitty Candlenights carols Kravitz played outside that shop. Ever since then, ever since Kravitz had watched him with a fondness that reached all the way to the depths of his eyes, things have gotten better.

But still, Taako thinks, resting one hand on Kravitz’s limp form…this.

Taako closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and recites the incantation. His palms shift to cradle Kravitz’s cheeks, which isn’t a somatic portion of the spell, but does make Taako feel better.

When he opens his eyes, the space around him is white.

It’s snowing, here, snowing like it did in the heart of winter. Big fat flakes that drift around him and Taako thinks, that’s odd: it hadn’t been snowing the day he nearly died.

Then he sees Kravitz. He’s facing away from Taako, looking out onto the plains. Taako goes to call to him, but the name jams in his throat.

In front of Kravitz stands Taako himself, a scythe rammed in his chest.

“What the  _fuck_ ,” he breathes, and Kravitz flinches. Taako looks at it askance for a moment. A projection, then. This is what Kravitz has conjured of him.

That’s fucked up.

He tries to step forward, forgetting that he can’t actually move in this spell, and titches in annoyance when he rams his knee against an invisible wall keeping him in place. Gods, he’s going to have to modify this spell somehow. “Hey, Krav, c’mere,” he says, kicking snow against the barrier and watching it pass through easily. Fuck that. “Let’s get you outta here, rabbit.”

Kravitz doesn’t turn to look at him.

“Oh,  _Kravitz_ ,” says this other Taako, this mirror-him, shirt painted bright red and still bleeding. It straightens itself, brushes off its shoulder, and ignores Kravitz’s hitched breath. It cocks its head. “Don’t go, dearest. You don’t deserve it, do you, little raven?”

Taako’s torn between the wild urge to laugh and a sudden surge of anger. He’s literally never called Kravitz that. “Don’t listen to him, Kravitz, he doesn’t get to say  _shit_  about what you deserve and what you don’t. Listen, I’d come over there, but I  _literally_  can’t, it’s super fucked. Can’t move these feet at all.”

“He isn’t real,” says the fake. It takes a step toward Kravitz, then another, then another. “You killed him, remember? You killed me.”

“I know,” Kravitz says hoarsely.

Suddenly Taako understands the defeated slump to his shoulders, the worn and pained crease to his brow. This — he doesn’t know  _what_  this is, this other-him that taunts Kravitz even at his lowest point. Most of the time, during his nightmares, Kravitz will at least fight back, but that — the way he’d slumped back against the mattress, unmoving — terrifies Taako more than anything else.

“Okay, yeah, except I’m very much still alive,” Taako snaps. He scrambles for his glaive and finds his belt empty. Fuck. This would be so much easier if he could just grab Kravitz and run. “This is a dream, baby. Just a dream. You didn’t kill me.”

“I did.” Kravitz gestures tiredly at the scythe. “I did this.”

“You super didn’t, my man.”

“Except he did.”

“ _You_  shut the fuck up,” Taako snaps.

“Taako wouldn’t come back for you,” the fake sing-songs. “Even if I were still alive, I wouldn’t come back for you, Kravitz. You don’t deserve it, do you, hmm?”

Kravitz’s head bows wearily. Even though he says nothing in response to the fake’s taunts, Taako can picture perfectly the guilt shuttering across his face. Gods know he’s seen it often enough.

“Could you maybe be quiet for like two seconds? You know, you’re really fucking irritating, and also, I don’t know,  _fake_. Hey, you know what, Kravitz? I’m still alive, and I love you.”

Kravitz curls in on himself, wounded. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Gods. “There’s nothing to be sorry  _for_ ,” he says. Out of frustration he kicks the wall and only succeeds stubbing his toe. Okay, bad idea. “I’m alive, Kravitz. This is a dream, baby, I’m alive and in our bed back in the real world and there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I — what — ”

“Even now you hope it’s true,” the fake says derisively. “Even now you hope, hmmm? Even though you know you killed him, little raven.”

“He did  _not_.”

Kravitz looks between them both, painfully confused, and it’s worse to be able to see his face like this; he’s so tired and so drained. Neither of them need sleep but after so long with a mortal heart Kravitz has grown accustomed to it, and Taako knows he didn’t sleep for weeks after this first moment, out on the snowy plains.

“Hey,” Taako says, grabbing onto a flash of inspiration. “Remember those rings? The — look down at your hand, okay?”

He does. Taako breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “See that pink thing? Fuckin’, uh, tourmaline? That shit’s enchanted, remember that? Means this won’t happen again. Nothing — nothing could make you hurt me again. I promise.”

Kravitz turns. There’s red rimming his eyes and hope budding behind them because Kravitz bleeds now, bleeds and cries, and Taako wants nothing more than to cross the ten steps between them and hold him close.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he continues gently. “You know Taako don’t make promises for just anyone. Hey, you known what? I’ll do you one better. I promise you that I’m alive, that I’m still kickin’, that Ango visited yesterday. That even if all this bullshit  _did_ happen, Lup wouldn’t try to kill you, that Barry wouldn’t either. That I love you, Kravitz, and none of this has changed that.”

He lets a soft smile spread across his face, the way it does, just for Kravitz. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Kravitz lets out a small broken noise and stumbles forward. “You’re okay?”

“Right as rain,” Taako says. “‘s a dream, baby. Just a dream.”

Another step forward. “I thought this was real,” he whispers. “Taako, I thought all of this was real.”

“I know.” He barks out a laugh, outstretching a hand encouragingly. “Listen, when you wake up we gotta talk about your perception of me, yeah? Because this — ” he gestures toward the fake “ — ain’t actually flattering, like, at all.”

The fake, circling Kravitz, steps between them, scything hanging obscenely from his chest. It points the Umbrastaff directly at Kravitz, who shudders to a halt, frozen. “Don’t listen to him!” it sing-songs. “He’s dead. And you know better than anyone just how desperate the dead can be.”

“What did I  _just_  say about being alive,” Taako snaps. “And put that away, the Umbrastaff doesn’t even exist anymore.”

“It doesn’t exist for you,” the fake tosses over its shoulder, standing proud between Taako and Kravitz. “It still exists for him. She tried to kill you once, remember? Lup? She’ll do it again when you wake up.”

“She  _absolutely_  will not, do not slander my sister like this. Lup loves you, Kravitz. They all do, no one’s gonna fuckin’ revenge quest for me. Only quest this family’s going on is against Kalen, and that, uh, that happened years ago.”

The fake smirks. “It’ll be so easy for her.”

“She wouldn’t kill him!” Taako explodes. “Lup doesn’t kill people!”

“Except when you make her, hmm?” The fake doesn’t turn, but its hat twitches jauntily, and Taako presses harder against the invisible wall. He’s  _deffo_  modifying the spell. Like, yesterday. “Except when you make her people. You, Taako, the protective brother, ordering your sister to murder.” It pauses, grins, a garish slant of lips with which Taako is intimately familiar, and cocks its head. “Do you think it tears her apart?”

“This is fucked up,” Taako grits. “I get that you’re, like, a manifestation of Kravitz’s fears. That’s, fuckin’, uh, dream theory 101. You’re not supposed to be prodding holes in  _me_.”

“But you’re both so riddled.” It flashes a smirk over its shoulder. “You make it so easy.”

Taako ignores him, ignores the smirk that crawls up his face so like the one he wears almost every day but  _different_ , perverted. It makes his skin prickle. “Just push past him, Kravitz,” Taako snaps, palm burning where he’s jammed flesh against barrier. “He’s fuckin’ fake, can’t do  _shit_  to you.”

“Are — ” Kravitz clears his throat. His gaze flicks between the two of them and he says, “Okay.” His voice is steadier now, since Taako made his promise, and Taako cheers internally. He seems much clearer, the clouded pain cleared from his face, and his eyes are sharp as they flick between the two Taakos.

Now Taako just has to undo the damage that this fake is done, but, whatever. He’s saved the fucking world. He can convince his goddamned husband that he loves him.

Kravitz steels himself visibly, about to take a step forward. Taako reaches out for him, pressing his fingertips against the glass so hard the skin around it lightens several shades.

Just before Kravitz moves, the fake twists around the level the Umbrastaff at Taako.

“Oh  _fuck you —_ ”

“Don’t move,” the fake says. It smiles sweetly at Kravitz, and oh boy if Taako were free — “Take another step and I shoot.”

“I’ll be fine,” Taako says. “Hey, Kravitz? This is a  _dream_. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want to risk it?” It cocks its head. “Do you really want to risk it, Kravitz? If this transfers between planes, as we say, it really will be your fault, this time. No take-backsies on this one!”

“Hold on, hold on, I just wanna point out that you said ‘this time’, which basically admits it wasn’t his fault the first time. Just wanted to point that out.” Taako fumbles around the back of his belt, looking for anything he could use as a focus, but no — his spare wand, even his starter, even the one he crafted for Angus with the stupid little star on top were stripped from him. Nothing, no focus. He tries to rip at his shirt but it refuses to budge, he can’t even use cloth. “Trust me, Kravitz, c’mon.”

Kravitz looks again beneath the two of them, one with an unblemished chest and the one torn clean through, and closes his eyes. Another beat of silence, another brush of soft snow, and Taako notices for the first time how cold he is, how frigid the air around him feels. It’s saturated with a chill that sends shivers down his bones.

“This is my dream,” Kravitz says slowly.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m  _here._ ”

“So if I were to wake up,” Kravitz continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “you would be fine.”

“Yes, we’d all be gandy fuckin’ dancers except you’re not waking up and I can get us outta here if you just grab my hand.” Taako starts, then glares at him, panic thrumming thick through his chest. “Absolutely not, Kravitz.”

“Chances are good I’ll be fine — ”

“We talked about this!” Taako explodes. “We fucking talked about this, Kravitz, do  _not_ , don’t you dare!”

Kravitz purses his lips, gaze fixed on the outstretched Umbrastaff. “Hey, Kravitz? That weapon doesn’t even fucking  _exist_  anymore.”

“Not in the real world it doesn’t,” Kravitz says. When he looks up there’s resolve in his eyes, and Taako’s heart plummets. “But here? This is a dream.”

Taako shakes his head. The fake watches them both, grinning obscenely. “Okay, but think about it,” he says. He grinds to a halt on the realization that he has nothing else to say, because really, what does he know about dreamscapes here, in this plane? He would never hurt Kravitz, but clearly, this — whatever the hell that is — isn’t him. “Just…don’t,” he says desperately.

“You really can’t know, can you?” It winks at Taako, holding the umbrella higher. “Don’t know until you try. Now turn around, Kravitz, dearest, and get yourself lost in those woods, hmm? I know it’s a little bit frigid, but you’re dead, so you should be all right.”

It stares Taako down with a smirk scrawled plain across its face and  _fuck_  it, it knows it’s hurting Kravitz and just doesn’t  _care_. Taako’s magic flashes at the edges of the cylinder, fury whipping uselessly around the snow, scorching patches of dead earth into the ground. His face twists halfway into a snarl, vision flashing red, and the fake only giggles.

His vision narrows to that stupid hat and the stupid scythe and the tip of the umbrella pointed straight at him, a weapon that doesn’t even exist, anymore.

There’s a  _thwock_ , and the fake drops like a bag of bricks.

Taako looks up just in time to see Kravitz’s scythe dematerialize. “Aw, heck yeah!” Taako whoops, punching the air with his actual fist. But Kravitz only stares at Taako’s limp form with shaking hands. “Hey,” Taako calls. “Hey, rabbit. That’s not me.”

Kravitz startles and looks up, and Taako smiles that smile that makes Angus stop crying and his husband stop panicking and Kravitz steps forward, speeding until he nearly knocks Taako over with the force of their collision.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t,” Taako says, twisting Kravitz around so that he is, finally, between him and that awful fake. “Thank you for not — thank you for not trying to take that hit, I really appreciate that.”

“Then I won’t apologize, I suppose,” Kravitz chokes in a whisper, and holds him tightly, hands twisting in the back of his shirt. “You were rather irritated with me the last time.”

“For good fucking reason,” Taako snorts. He guides Kravitz’s head to his shoulder and ignores the tremors that shake his own shoulders, cups one hand at the base of Kravitz’s neck. The winter wind dances Kravitz’s robe around the both of them, ends glancing about their ankles. Taako closes his eyes and holds Kravitz close.

“You ready to go home?” he murmurs.

At his nod, Taako pulls back just far enough to press their foreheads together, then  _pushes_.

* * *

He sits up with a gasp, head still pounding. The moonlight seems a thousand times brighter and for a moment he winces before remembering —

“Kravitz,” he breathes, and looks to his side bare seconds before Kravitz knocks him flat with two arms around his shoulders.

“Oof,” he says, encircling Kravitz’s waist in return. Then he says, softly, “stop that.”

Kravitz buries his forehead in Taako’s shirt and does his best to muffle his sobs and Taako threads his hands through Kravitz’s hair and waits. This is the best he could do, for the past several weeks: wait and hope.

But now he has a weapon. A way to reach Kravitz during these awful moments. Taako’s found he’s quite good at pulling his friends out of awful situations. Got a bit of a track record going.

“I thought I’d killed you,” Kravitz manages, voice rough.

“As if you could be so lucky,” he snorts, and tucks his chin atop Kravitz’s head.

* * *

It becomes something of a pattern; when he needs to he casts Dream, and he’s never able to move, not with this rudimentary version of the spell. But he talks Kravitz down, talks right over the fake saying these awful things, and doesn’t flinch at the scythe in its chest, not any more. Tells Kravitz how much he loves him, and how proud he is, and how lucky he is that Kravitz has chosen him. How glad he is to spend the rest of eternity at his side.

It doesn’t heal, not completely. But those awful nights get more scarce, and after a while it becomes instinct, for them to reach for each other. It never takes quite so long for Kravitz to stumble toward Taako and take his hand.

They get better.

* * *

One morning, Taako wakes up next to the man he loves, kisses him softly awake, and realizes that the purple bruises beneath his eyes have faded back to warm brown.

* * *

Taako would think, out of the hundreds of planes he’s visited in his lifetime, he’d have some counterspell for idiot warlocks casting Darkness.

Granted, this particular brand of Darkness has been cast as a level nine spell, so it wouldn’t be easy for anyone, but Taako isn’t just anyone. He’s Taako, y’know, from TV but also saving the entire  _world_ , natch.

So Taako can’t see. Which is fine, that’s dandy, that’s why elves have large ears, so they can hear well. Which means if this were just Darkness Taako would be set, but this particular Darkness has the advantage of being combined with Maddening Whispers, another infuriatingly low-level spell, so instead of some good old inflicted blindness, eldritch gods keep whispering his worst nightmares in his ears.

Taako hopes, with all the twitching his ears are doing, that he’s smacking those fuckers right back.

He calls out for Lup, for Kravitz, but the sound of his voice gets swallowed by the Darkness. Which — that’s fine. He’s been on his own before, and this spell isn’t permanent or anything.

He takes a step out of — or maybe further into? he couldn’t tell the radius of the spell as it was being cast — the darkness, shuffling his feet along the ground. He’s still crunching leaves and twigs underfoot so he’s not in a different plane,  _that_  would suck. He casts Blink.

Great — the Ethereal Plane is dark, too.

Taako Blinks right back into the Prime Material plane, annoyed. What warlock has the right to be both this creative and  _this_  powerful? Which god, exactly, wants him dead?

He keeps his ears perked for any sign of attack, but hears nothing; just the dissonant whispers of the undead.

And when he listens closely, they sound like the Judges.

At the time, back in that cycle on the ruined world with stone gods, Taako hadn’t thought much of their future sins. It didn’t track, after all, because most of them talked about abandoning homes and betrayals and at the time, he’d thought that impossible of his family.

Then Magnus left Raven’s Roost and Merle left his children and Lup just  _left_  and Lucretia betrayed them all and they’d called it a “necessary betrayal”, the Judges, but fuck that.

Everyone leaves him, in the end.

Taako scrunches his eyes shut, shakes his head slightly. This spell’s fucking with him, but even as he has that thought he remembers another time he spent in complete darkness — breaking into the Director’s quarters. They’d called her the Director, back then. His little sister, reduced to a title, crowned with white hair and an age she hadn’t earned. An age she’d earned five times over.

He thinks, a little desperately,  _illusion magic_. This darkness is solid and complete and there are these  _fucking_  whispers, maddeningly quiet but omnipresent, following him even as he tilts his ears. It’s not illusion magic and he knows it but he can’t get out of this sphere by wandering and he hates the darkness, he  _hates_  it, he hates that no one’s answering, not even when he calls for Magnus or Merle or Davenport or even Lucretia, even though she was nowhere near them, even though it was only him and Kravitz and Barry and Lup on this mission, but he’s alone and there’s no one here and he feels like the whispers are tearing him apart —

A faint light. In the dim pink glow Taako realizes he’s on his knees.

He stands hastily, uncurls his nails from the flesh of his ears, and looks toward it. It’s nothing more than a muted silhouette. Still the whispers sound in his ears but it’s something, and Taako moves toward it.

The whispers part and he hears, faintly, “Taako?”

“Kravitz?”

“I’m here,” Kravitz calls from far away, and the pink light is moving faster now, and the light resolves into his silhouette, cape billowing behind his back. Taako stumbles forward too, half-tripping over the rocks on the ground. His throat is dry and his heartbeat pounds in his ears and when he reaches Kravitz he clings, hard.

He buries his face in Kravitz’s chest and breathes. Kravitz never left. Angus never left. And they’re never going anywhere.

They both promised him.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Taako clears his throat, shuts his eyes tightly, gets his breathing under control. “Uh, peachy keen, doin’ just — fine. Yeah.”

“I can hear your heartbeat, love.”

“You’re imagining it.”

“No, I don’t think I am,” Kravitz hums, a hint of laughter in his voice, and Taako finally grins.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

The kiss that Kravitz drops on his forehead feels warm and soft and right. “I would say I’m your ass, but we both know that’s just not true.”

“I’m not even sure how that would work. Like, I can’t date my own ass. It’s attached to me.”

“Always supports you, though.”

Taako slaps a palm against Kravitz’s chest, groaning into his collarbone. “That was awful and you should feel bad.”

“I feel appropriately terrible.”

“You’re an awful liar.”

Kravitz shrugs, hands folding into the small of Taako’s back. “I’m a gambler, love. You knew this from the very beginning.”

“Yeah, but when I met you I didn’t know I loved you.”

The words make Kravitz fall silent, as they sometimes do. Taako grins. “Sap.”

“Undoubtedly.” Two fingers tug his chin up, and Kravitz presses his lips against Taako’s forehead, and after so long it no longer surprises Taako that he’s warm.

Surrounded by darkness and the whispers of the damned, Taako holds his beloved tight and waits for the storm to pass.

* * *

It’s gratifying, afterward, to watch Kravitz tear the necromancer to shreds. Sure, the dude was powerful, but Kravitz is a thousand-something years old. There’s very little they can do in the end except scream as they’re Disintegrated.

“Things got personal, hmm?”

“They scared you,” Kravitz says simply.

“Did not.”

“Of course, love.”

Kravitz takes their soul in his palms, sends it off to the Astral Plane. “And good riddance,” Taako says, flipping off the corpse as Kravitz holds out a gallant elbow, tearing them a portal back home.

* * *

It’s summer, and Kravitz pouts the whole way to the restaurant, because they took away his piano a couple of weeks ago and he can no longer play Candlenights carols for the children of Neverwinter. Toward the end of winter he’d attracted quite a crowd around that shawarma place. Kravitz was captivated by the children. Taako compared them often to gremlins.

The managers of the store, of course, loved them. Business flourished when a maestro spun his magic outside their doors.

But even in the heat of summer they go anyway, linked hand-in-hand and indulging in their favorite pastime: roasting. 

In both senses of the word. 

See, one of the great things about Neverwinter is the high density of celebrities that live there (yes, including four of the Seven Birds), so there are always thick pickings for people-watching and smack-talking. By the time Taako and Kravitz arrive at their destination, they’ve snorted behind their hands at the outfits of at least half the wealthy population of this city, with juice to spare. A lot of the upper class wear red, now, though Taako’s not really sure why. It’s not like they’re the only ones that heard the Story. And for those with green undertones — well, Candlenights was a couple months ago and green-on-red wasn’t a great look even then.

Though their servers deny it, when Taako glances around their portions are greater than the rest of the patrons’. Now, Taako isn’t complaining, but it gets under Kravitz’s skin a little bit. Inherent sense of justice and morality and all that. Whenever Kravitz looks particularly uncomfortable Taako just smirks and elbows him, and Kravitz rolls his eyes and laughs.

These few months after winter passed, they’re back to their easy, wordless communication.

And it’s easier, now, even than it was before. Something of a theme, Taako thinks, in their story; to weather hardships and come out the other side greater for them. It’s a violation of every principle of equivalent exchange that supports the bare tenets of transmutation, that from his suffering Taako could find greater joys, but hey; for once, Taako’s not complaining.

After the disaster upon the snow-capped plains, they’ve only grown closer. Stronger for it. Their rings glint a little brighter and their smiles too, secure in the knowledge that nothing can take away the happy ending they’ve earned.

On this unremarkable summer afternoon, thighs pressed together and smiles brushed wide along their faces, Taako and Kravitz watch the day pass kindly.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me / check the rest of my writings at my [tumblr](https://inkedinserendipity.tumblr.com/)


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